(dedicated to Cole Horibe)
Even the stars fall.
Even light bends to that constant force.
Even tears, even souls.
What is time when there is no weight
to hold it down?
What is joy without the memory of crashing?
What is falling?
It is the bittersweet taste of flight
with the promise of pain.
But you know this.
While we stay stuck, tethered to the core,
submitting to its hungry embrace,
you traverse the sky, dance
among stars, and comets, and such.
You discovered freedom’s secret:
we can generate our own gravity.